Silver hair spilled from the confines of his helmet and cascaded down his shoulders. The young Scout shook his head, combed it back with his fingers, took a deep breath, and then entered the room.

    Heated, gold eyes glared at him as he walked in. The young Scout tried to take no notice of it, but found that quite more than difficult. Having your own Commander stare you down when you walk into his own office was not something easily ignored. The silver-haired Eden shifted uncomfortably in his place. What to say, what to say? One wrong word and the young Scout knew it would be more than eyes piercing him. Cautiously, he opened his mouth.

    'What the hell is this?' The Commander beat him to it.

    'I—uh—well...' The young Scout stumbled to find the right words. The Commander’s ever-so-narrowing glare made it none the easier.

    'Shit.'

   The young Scout looked up. 'Pardon?'

    'This is shit. You dare come to me with this? You dare think I will accept this?' The Commander’s voice rose in anger. 'Eight-teen years you have been here. Eight-teen Goddamn years, and you still return to me with this pile of crap?' He slammed his hand on the white folder, causing the young Scout to jump. 'I expected more from you, Ahara G-Stone. I expected much more.'

    Ahara hung his head in shame. 'I am truly sorry, Commander Heelal.'

    Commander Heelal shook his head. 'Sorry is not cutting it anymore, Zuiver. I need results. Now, take this and get out of my sight before I feel the need to—'

    'Send me to the depths of Hell,' Ahara finished. 'Yes, sir.'

    The young Scout took the white folder from the outstretched hand of his disappointed Commander and silently left the office.

    It pained him to see the Commander angered. It pained him to be constantly rejected by the man he cared for so deeply. But he had to reason with Commander Heelal. In all his years, Ahara had never seen a greater Eden, a more acknowledgeable Eden. He had never seen someone so devoted to the work they did, to the people they protected, regardless of how deadly it was (and being the top-ranking Commander in these days was borderline an outright death wish). Two-hundred plus lives of those in his guild rested on Commander Heelal’s shoulders, along with all the lives of the citizens of the lands he occupied. Thousands of people depended on this one man for their safety, and he gave them every ounce of protection he had. Now that Ahara thought about, Commander Heelal’s own body had seen a blade far more often than the shield he should be carrying had.

    On that note, Commander Heelal was just about as skilled as they came. He knew all the tricks and tactics to sword fighting, and was unbelievably skilled with a knife; his knowledge of the body, nimbleness, and absolute awareness made him an excellent hand-to-hand fighter; his knowledge of war and the battlefield, and amazing sense of observation, ranked him undefeated for three-hundred years and counting. (Of course, Commander Heelal had been defeated on rare occasions in the one-on-one sporadic brawls with his rival Commander, Azula.)

    Yes, an undeniably great man he was. Well, at least to those who did not know him, Ahara thought. Beneath that perfect picture, that Godly image--a brutish, blunt, unforgiving, cold-hearted, sarcastic, narcissistic bastard. Unlike any other man Ahara had met, or any other Commander, Prince and Commander Zithrah R. Heelal held up quite a cold shoulder. His looks an easy attraction, but his sly tone an easy turn off. With a quite colourful array of words and an unbelievably short temper, Commander Heelal was not someone you would want to be in the same room with for more than a few seconds. Ahara was almost grateful the damned Eden kept himself locked away in his office much of the time.

    But on a reverse note, Commander Heelal had qualities many, Ahara included, envied. Aside from his colourful array of words and short temper, the brute was genuine in what he said. If you asked him something, he would give you the truth, only the truth, and nothing but the truth. No matter how harsh it was. He was a man who faced reality head on.

    Ahara entered his quarters and closed the door silently behind him. He dropped the folder onto the desk, slumped into the chair, and stared at it. Finally the young Scout let out a heavy sigh.

    ‘The paper’s not going to write itself,’ he chided.

    With that, Ahara took up his pen and began again.